Her Beloved William
by GuitarGirl97
Summary: One-shot. Christina loved William with all her heart when he was alive and when he died she knew she would never love again. But time is taking it's toll on the young widow with a house to run and a baby to care for. Everyone thought that Mark was dead and yet he has arrived home at long last- so could Christina ever be reunited with her beloved William again?


**Disclaimer:**** I am not K.M Peyton and do not own her Flambards Series. If I did, Will would never have died! I am also not Christina Rossetti and I do not own her poem 'When I am dead, my dearest'. **

**Author Note****: Hey all! Here is another one-shot for William/Christina; this time it's the dream ending that everyone wished for, even Mark and Dick supporters I'm sure. For this fic, please forget that the 4****th**** book ever happened. Also, no romance has yet occurred between Christina and Dick. :-) **

**Before I stop rambling I wish to ask; would anyone be interested in an actual Flambards story, as opposed to just one shots? Just say if you are. **

**Here's a massive thank you to neverwithoutyou and The Victoriana who reviewed my other story, and thank you for reading! We Flambards fans may be a minority, but we all love one of the best series ever written! :-) **

**Her Beloved William**

_When I am dead, my dearest,  
Sing no sad songs for me;  
Plant thou no roses at my head,  
Nor shady cypress tree:  
Be the green grass above me  
With showers and dewdrops wet;  
And if thou wilt, remember,  
And if thou wilt, forget._

_I shall not see the shadows,_  
_I shall not feel the rain;_  
_I shall not hear the nightingale_  
_Sing on, as if in pain:_  
_And dreaming through the twilight_  
_That doth not rise nor set,_  
_Haply I may remember,_  
_And haply may forget._

Flambards was, to put it mildly, in a state of complete and utter madness. The hounds were howling and barking at one another, Fowler was muttering to himself as he dashed around the stables, Mary was torn between running up and down the stairs to tend to the newly returned Mark and cleaning Tizzy's ears (as he seemed so incapable- they were dirtier than coal) and upstairs Christina was pacing relentlessly back and forth as she rocked her little baby girl, Isobel, who was screaming incredibly loudly. What made the ordeal ten times worse was that Christina was forever ducking beneath the large models of beautiful aeroplanes all moving slightly in the breeze from an open window.

The little baby in her arms was an angry red in the face, her little nose and mouth screwed up as she wailed and cried without any signs of stopping to give her poor mother a break. Isobel was a beautiful baby most of the time, her dark hair and sparkling little eyes enough to take Christina's breath away; in fact, Isobel had charmed old Mary so much that the elder woman no longer tutted or fussed at mud walked into the hallway, or straw attached to the big old chairs.

"Hush, darling, can you not give your mother some peace?" Christina asked in a soft voice, trying not to lose her temper with her own baby. But her impassioned plea had no effect on Isobel, whose cries just increased in volume. It seemed that she had inherited William's stubborn temperament, then.

With a sigh, Christina looked down closely at her crying baby, stroking the soft dark hairs on her sweet little head and seeing past the angry tears, looking and seeing how her dark hair was so perfectly similar to William's-

No. Christina tore her eyes away from the baby and went back to pacing, humming a strained lullaby as she moved to and fro in the little bedroom. She firmly stopped the string of wistful memories that were battling to take hold of her focus, well aware that whenever she did lose herself in the haze of nostalgia, she would end up in a fitful state of tears, quite unable to pull herself together and function normally. It wouldn't be fair to do such a thing, not today when everyone was so busy and Mark was only just back from France, demanding everyone's care and attention.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, there was the sound of footsteps and floorboards groaning, before Marks's smiling head appeared round the door. Christina looked up and smiled at him, inviting him inside, still not quite used to how he looked these days. But would she ever be used to him, the strong character of the family, looking so gaunt and tired? Christina knew what he had suffered; he rarely talked about the prisoner of war camp, but over a glass of port and a roaring fire he often opened up and revealed horrific tales of hard labour, bad food, violence and diseases. Then, of course, there were his stories of what the war itself was like; a war being fought just over the channel from their idyllic countryside.

'_Northern France no longer has countryside,' _she recalled Will telling her once. _'It's all mud, blood and the dead men now, littering the place. It makes you wonder; what would have happened to everything we know if the war was ravaging our countryside?'_

At least, Christina consoled herself with a shiver, her William had flown above all that mud and blood, aloft in the open blue in some sort of flying machine, rather than being stuck squatting in a muddy trench waiting to be gassed out by various horrific chemicals. It was rather vexing how the newspapers always left out the small details such as how the men were dying so brutally and regularly too, instead screaming of triumph and glory in the headlines.

"Hello, Mark. Shouldn't you be resting?" she greeted him in a dull voice, and he shook his head and looked pointedly at Isobel.

"You can't get much sleep with the racket that your daughter seems happy to make." He yawned, the smile on his lips telling her that he didn't mind really. He held out his hands for her and Christina passed the crying bundle over to him. The child stopped crying when in his arms, and Christina breathed a sigh of relief.

"She likes you, Mark." She commented, and Mark shook his head with a small smile down at Isobel.

"No, she just wants a male figure. All children must want men and women; mothers and fathers, you see." He said simply in reply, but his subtle happiness stood out like a beacon. "God, she looks like William, doesn't she?"

"Mm."

Christina turned away from Mark and Isobel, already cursing herself mentally for being such an idiot. You fool, she scolded herself, all he said was William's name; you should be able to cope with such trivial things by now! But still, the same old surge of hurt and pain swept through her body and made her feel physically sick just to think about him again.

Desperate to rid the pain from her body, Christina wandered over to the window and stared down at the huge expanse of immaculate grass, clearly recently weeded and tended by Fowler and the other lads. She and William had walked that grass so many times together; chatting, racing, storming along in stony silence...

Each and every conversation, no matter how trivial and simple, had been like gold with William as he had too often been busy and unable to talk to her. Even when not busy, he had also been thrown into bad moods by the Dermot and all the other aeronautical difficulties, then angry and not willing to chat. But each conversation they had gave her the will to live through the angry times, or the tired times, and even now just remembering a conversation could make her happy again for a few weeks, sometimes having the adverse effect if she cried.

But now was a time, staring out that window, that Christina needed comfort, and so she indulged herself in a memory, a memory of a time long before children and death, a time long before the war even; a memory of her William...

_The sun was warm and gorgeously hot on her skin, like a warm ethereal kiss, and she ran through the field laughing, trailing her hands and fingers through the long golden grasses. The hat on her head kept slipping as she skipped like a child, still giggling for no real reason other than it was hot and she was happy._

"_Christina." William's voice was not happy; in fact, he sounded immensely irritated as he looked down at his now pollen stained trousers, his face and tone perfectly disparaging. Christina, in her happy hysteria, could only laugh more. "Why did we even have to come on this blasted walk- it's far too hot. Besides, I could really do with this free time to make changes to the Dermot's fuselage-"_

"_Oh, you!" Christina scolded him playfully, slowing down in order to link her arm boisterously through his, giving him a little sideways shove. "Surely, my sweet perfectionist, one afternoon will not make the slightest difference to your mission to single-handedly create the world beater-"_

"_Yes, actually, it does." He replied in a distant voice, his eyes catching sight of the old Farman doing her daily 'prevention from death' exercises that Sandy and Will both loathed so greatly. He honed in on the archaic biplane swooping painfully through the open cornflower blue of the skies, completely focused on it and it alone, making Christina pout and take her arm swiftly out of William's. He didn't even notice, so she put her head down and began to pick wildflowers, ripping them up with surprising venom._

"_One afternoon would also make a world of difference to your fiancée." She muttered bitterly, turning fully away from him and starting to stride off out into the thick of the golden field, having spied some particularly attractive flowers._

_But suddenly, before she could really start to storm off, his arms were around her waist and his breath was tickling her neck as he breathed, and then as he spoke softly._

"_What was that, you grumpy receptionist?" he asked, his voice far warmer and humoured, making Christina imagine that he was smiling. She rolled her eyes and tried to remain tense in his grip, desperate to remember that she was irritated with him, but the warmth of his arms and his soap and engine oil smell were working like magic upon her._

"_Mr Russell." She replied in an indignant tone, hearing William chuckle and feeling one of his hands begin to caress her neck softly. "Considering that your arms are currently around my waist, I would have expected you to at least be enthusiastic at the prospect of spending time with me."_

"_On the contrary, Miss Parsons." He practically whispered into her ear, turning it pink and hot as she blushed. "It is you who should be enthusiastic at the prospect of spending time with _me_, Hendon's most popular stuntman I might add."_

_He stopped the teasing abruptly only to spin her around in one swift action and place his lips upon her own, tasting of sunshine and feeling as soft as silk. Christina closed her eyes and melted on the spot, content to be in the warm sunshine, the warm embrace, to have the warmth of love inside her..._

_All too soon, William broke away and seized her hand, marching them both on purposefully, swinging their hands with comical exaggeration that had them both close to hysterics. As they slowed their mad walk, but did not slow the arm swinging, the low hum of a bumble bee passed their noses, catching William's interest as he stopped and watched where it landed. Giggling, Christina leant on him as he pointed to it, grinning._

"_Look at that bumble bee." He said, his voice light and fascinated. Christina giggled again as she peered at the fat little insect on the closest wildflower. "You wouldn't expect it, but the aerodynamics of that bumble bee-"_

"_Oh, be quiet you fool!" Christina immediately laughed, cutting him off and running madly away from him, shrieking with laughter. "No-one cares- just be content with the knowledge that it flies!"_

_She fell into the golden grass as William caught up with her, pulling him down with her, and they lay back together, hand entwined, watching the few birds soar through the open blue above them without any effort. Christina looked over at William laying beside her, his face happy and his eyes bright with life, and she knew that no-one would ever love him more than she did._

"Christina? Christina!"

Mark's voice pierced the sweet illusion and cleared the fog of memories in Christina's mind, pulling her back into reality with a sharp stab of pain in the heart. She quickly wiped the tears on her cheeks away before she turned around, but Mark could still tell that she had been crying. Stood there, with Isobel asleep in the crook of his arm and concern on his face, Christina saw a side to him that had rarely surfaced when they were all teenagers. She found it even sadder that it had taken a few years of a still growing war to teach him that emotion was not a bad thing.

He opened his mouth, presumably to ask her if she was alright, but before he could do so the piercing sound of Mary screaming filled the air, and both of them turned pale and shocked in a flash. Christina's ears were ringing.

"Mary- Tizzy!" Christina gasped, her thoughts at last collected, and Mark nearly threw Isobel at her as he turned and charged out of the room, suddenly frantic to ensure the wellbeing of a faithful servant and his own son. Christina ran after him, out of the room and into the hallway, her heart beating like a drum as she fought to speed up. Her long skirt kept clutching at her knees and she very nearly tripped several times, deciding that for Isobel's sake she had better slow down.

The sound of Mary sobbing uncontrollably floated up from the hallway to Christina's ears, and she stood frozen on the stairs as Mark hurried straight to the front door where Mary stood frozen herself, face pale and eyes spurting tears without an end. Christina hung back as Isobel started to stir, rocking the little baby in her arms with a worried frown. She couldn't see what was going on, as the open door was blocking her view. Curious and a little worried, she made her way down the next steps slowly, trying to see what was going on...

"Bloody hell." Mark's voice floated into the hallway, rude and shocked. He sounded as if he were about to keel over. "How the devil are you here?!"

"Well, I wasn't expecting open arms and hugs, but could I not get at least a warm welcome home from my own brother? Hm. It would seem that times haven't changed then. Good to see you, too."

Christina froze on the bottom step of the huge wooden staircase, her foot hanging in mid-air as she prepared to step down onto the ground. Her heart was beating erratically and with each sickening thud yet more adrenaline shot through her veins, making her feel dizzy. She couldn't have heard that voice, that conversation; she knew that she must have been dreaming...

But then, as Mary turned and fled back to the kitchen as she sobbed like a child, Mark gruffly stood back and let another man into the hallway. As the door closed, the view was instantly clear and Christina could see everything. She saw Mark's ghostly pallor and the tall, slim build of the other man, his dark hair and eyes like distant memories. As her frantic eyes scanned his khaki uniform and found the RFC badge, she felt the full weight of the situation come crashing down on her and she cried out.

"William!"

He tensed and turned around in a flash, his eyes suddenly sparkling as he saw her stood there motionless, but Christina could no longer hold herself together. With a wobble of the legs she fell forwards, unable to support herself, and as Mark whipped Isobel out of her arms she tumbled and landed into William's arms.

She was trembling so much that she could hardly stand, feeling William embrace her as if she were in some sort of cruel dream that would be beautiful now and yet so painful when she awoke. But that was his breath tickling her neck, that was his old oil and soap smell, that was the warmth of his arms as they clutched her to him- Christina felt hot tears pool in her eyes as and streak down her cheeks in burning trails as he let her go and steadied her, eyes concerned.

"H-how?" she choked out, the words hurting as they were forced out of her dry throat. "How can you be stood here? T-they told me that you were dead- all this time I thought you were dead!"

As she began to sob, William lifted her chin with gentle fingertips and made her look at him, his dark eyes sincere and calm. So typical of William to be calm and logical even in such a dramatic event- it would have been funny if she wasn't so overwhelmed that she felt physically sick again.

"Christina, listen to me." He said calmly, stroking her cheek and smiling a little, which was even more detrimental to Christina's state as she began to shake. "I was shot and I did nearly die, but the Germans carted me off to a camp and made sure that I didn't die. I did hard labour with all the other prisoners, and as I am a Captain the Germans used me to barter for one of their own soldiers."

"But no-one told me that you were alive! I even received a letter- a letter from another pilot, saying that you'd died in their arms-!"

"Comforting lies, sweetheart. That's all." He replied gently and that seemed to finally make the situation dawn on Christina. She flung her arms around him again and cried onto his chest, hot tears soaking into the khaki as he stroked her hair. "But I'm here now, Christina, and I don't intend to leave you like that again. It's alright."

After a minute of silent embracing, Christina's sobs subsiding with each second held in William's arms, a thin wail broke through the quiet of the moment, and both Christina and William looked up. Isobel, in Mark's arms, was now fully awake and starting to cry again, her little eyes wide and imploring. Christina was reluctant to let go of William, but she was glad to have her daughter back in her arms, smiling down at the little bundle who was now smiling again, realising that now her precious child would have her father.

William, however, was watching Christina and Isobel with emotionless eyes, looking swiftly at Mark who in turn looked uncomfortable under the strange look from his younger brother back from the dead. William's face was confused and hurt, and he looked as if he were fighting to decide whether to voice what was plaguing him, or to just leave it be. Christina looked up from Isobel and saw his confusion, opening her own mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

"Christina..." he began, but then stopped, as if unable to get the words out. "I understand if you...I understand if you...if you and Mark have found one another in the time you thought me dead. I don't blame you for it, as you honestly thought-"

Mark suddenly exploded with laughter as Christina's own mouth dropped open, her eyes darting from William, to Mark, to Isobel and then to William again. He couldn't think that she had fallen in love with Mark as soon as he was dead, could he?!

Will looked confused and a little angry, turning to face Mark, but Mark simply shrugged and patted Will on the shoulder, still chuckling a little under his breath.

"Come on, Will, you can't think that the baby's mine; not when she is the spitting image of you?" he roared with laughter as William's mouth gaped. "Besides, if Christina and I had started something together, she would have needed to stop moping and sobbing about you all the time- which she didn't manage. Gods teeth, Will, I thought you were supposed to be the intelligent one!"

Christina had gone bright red from Mark's words, hating how she sounded so weak and pathetic, but William was far too occupied with looking down in wonder at his tiny baby daughter, who made a mewling sound and batted the air with her tiny fists, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes.

"Isobel Russell," Christina whispered, passing her over to William's trembling arms, "Meet your father."

Her own words, the words she had never thought that she would get to say, made the tears start to flow freely again, and William drew her closer to him. They stood together as husband and wife, as parents, as young people in love as they looked down at their daughter as they stood in the familiar hallway of Flambards, a place that they had loathed and loved in their short lifetimes.

Christina saw it as a new lease of life for herself and for Isobel; she had never dreamt that this would be possible, and she was so happy that it had. For once again her life was complete; once again her beloved William was back with her, the reason for her happiness.

**The end! Hope you enjoyed it- this was what I always hoped would happen in the books, but it obviously never did. There are several others ways I imagined that Will could return 'from the dead', but the prisoner of war scenario seems most accurate as it sort of happened to Mark. **

**I just wanted to add, in regards to the full-length Flambards story fic, that the two ideas I have for this are an alternative to the third book which is Will/Christina or a story from Will's POV, imagining he is in a prisoner of war camp and how he eventually returns home etc. If either appeal please say, and if not I will stick to one shots! **

**Thanks for reading! :-) **


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